Never Gather Rosebuds After Dark
by X-File Writer
Summary: *Chapter 4 is up!* Josh has an inner-Romeo. Really! And ever since last Friday's "incident" he's tried his best to show Donna...but will the rosebuds finally get gathered? (Josh POV; J/D)
1. Rosebud is to Gather as Golden Birthday ...

Golden Day ****

Never Gather Rosebuds after Dark

By: The Writer

Rating: PG

Category: Josh/Donna

Declaimer: I doubt anybody like Aaron Sorkin would come around here looking for people to sue for borrowing his characters, but just incase you don't know, THEY AREN'T MINE!

Author's Note: This takes place some time during Season 2, before the MS crisis and Mrs. L's death. This story is about something that would probably never happen on the show, but I'm going to write about it anyway. (I'm not sure if Donna's birth date was ever disclosed or if Josh really has a coffee maker in his office, but let's pretend.) So, anyway, here we go… Please **Read & Review**

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I sat at my desk late one Friday night. It was long past the time when all of the interns and other people whose names I don't know had gone home. I wasn't even sure what time Donna had left, which was quite an odd thing. Usually she comes in to say good night and make sure I didn't need anything else. But tonight I had looked up a few hours ago—was it nine or ten?—to the startling realization that her desk was empty and her computer turned off.

So there I sat, staring at my monitor, willing the last few words of the letter I was writing to come to me so I could go home—or, better yet, go get a drink. The quiet in my section of the West Wing was deafening. 

You can see why, when I heard a loud crash, I jumped up and grabbed for something to defend myself with. My keyboard was the closest thing at hand, so I picked it up and began carrying it towards his doorway…until I realized the limitations of defending oneself with an object still attached by a cord to the rest of a computer. 

Deciding I was enough of a man to defend myself without the petty use of a weapon, I stepped out of my office and almost tripped over the body that lay at my feet. It moaned, "Ouch. I'll report you to the PCAAA if you kick me again…"

"Donna?" I knelt down next to my assistant and helped her sit up. She pushed tangled blonde hair off of her face and smiled at me. Her eyes had the same glossy-shine I've seen many times in the mirror. "Donna, are you drunk?"

She squinted at me, her words were slurred, "PCAAA…Prevention of Cruelty Against Assistants Association." She jabbed a finger into my chest. "They know about you…oops." Donna lost her balance and flopped back onto the floor, laughing.

"I don't think there is such a place." I put an arm around her waist and helped her to stand up. She leaned heavily against me as I guided her into my office and set her in my chair. "Just stay there while I make you some coffee."

"It was about time we traded roles…wee!"

"Donna, what are you…" I abandoned the coffee maker to watch my assistant sit in my chair and spin herself in circles. 

She stopped spinning and grabbed her head. "Joshua, tell the room to stop spinning…it's not listening to me."

If only I had a camera…if only I had a camera… "How much did you drink?"

"More than you could." Donna laughed and hiccuped.

I rubbed my face. How can Donna _still_ manage to argue when she's drunk? "Which would be…?"

"Two…three…six shots of something? Or was it one? And then I had a bottle of beer…or was it wine?"

"Donna, beer comes in a small bottle and wine comes in a—

"I know, I'm just teasing." She laughed loudly. "I'm not drunk, you know, just a lil' bit tipsy…a little…"

"How did you end up back here?" I asked, handing her a steaming mug.

Donna blinked, tried to focus on me, gave up, and closed her eyes. "A taxi…a nice man got one for me…wasn't that nice? I was going to go home…but I thought you owed me."

I pushed a pile of papers to the side and sat on the edge of my desk. I looked at my assistant. Donnatella Moss? Drunk? Those words never seemed to go together. But here she was…and what was I going to do? Let her sleep it off here? Drive her home or take her to my… No, no, that's no good. I couldn't…I wouldn't…But…

Suddenly she sat up and wailed, "I'm twenty-eight, Joshua!"

I my fingers through my hair. "Okay…"

"No! It's not okay!" Donna moaned, rocking back and forth on my chair. "Today's my golden birthday and by now I was supposed to meet the man I was going to marry!"

I. Can't. Breathe. Take this like a man, Lyman, take this like a man. **Ha**. _Yeah right._ I'll be sly, that's it, sly like James Bond. "Maybe you _have_ met him."

Donna cocked her head to the side, her eyes clearing a bit. Oh no. Now I've done it. What will she say? "Like Joe the pizza guy or my mailman?"

I'm going to shoot myself. Right now. Bam! Dead. If I had a gun, that is. "Yeah, _maybe_…"

"Then why hasn't this man told me?" she asked.

There is a good response to this question…there **is** a good response to this question… "Maybe he doesn't know." And that wasn't it.

She looks a bit disappointed. "Oh."

"Or maybe you don't know."

"Oh, I know, Joshua."

"You _would_ know or you _do_ know?"

Donna stood up and walked towards the doorway. Damn it! She's walking straight…who gets sober in twenty minutes with one cup of coffee? "Good night, Josh."

That's it? That's it! "Donna, wait!"

"What?" Donna turned around, looking as hopeful as a…a…a… A good simile eludes me at the moment. She just looked _very_ hopeful, all right? **Yes**! I _am_ a Fulbright scholar! I _really_ am! 

"Happy birthday, Donna." I took a step forward and kissed her…on the forehead. It wasn't the right time. I'm sorry. She still _is _my assistant and we _are_ standing in the White House and…and…you should never gather rosebuds after dark.

Donna smiled at me and left. I swear I heard her whisper, "Maybe he doesn't know."

Maybe I don't. Maybe I do. Maybe I do and I'm not going to tell. I did tell? Well, that's just your opinion, now isn't it? Maybe I have a plan. _What?_ You didn't think I had a plan? How could I, Josh Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff, the graduate of both Harvard _and_ Yale (thank you very much) **not** have a plan?

Well, I researched rosebud gathering and I have come to this conclusion: Never gather rosebuds after dark. They (the flowers) have this thing that they will only open when the sun's out and, _trust me_, they're much nicer looking when they're open. There's a certain step-by-step process that must be followed or else the flower will not bloom. 

Are you following me? Good. 'Cause I lost myself a few sentences ago.

So, you can see, I already had it all planed out. I even have a bouquet of flowers in mind. And I will, of course, make sure they were gathered during the day. I can't wait to see the look on Donna's face…she has even less faith in my romantic abilities than _you_ do. But I can be a downright Romeo when I put my mind to it. Just wait and see…

(Probably) The End ~ Please review!

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Note to any readers of The Political Engagement_ who recognized my pen name: I really truly am at work on the next scene! Keep an eye out and expect it up in the next few days! Thanks._


	2. The Best Laid Plans Wither...

Never Gather Rosebuds After Dark Never Gather Rosebuds After Dark 

By: The Writer

Rating: PG 

Category: Josh/Donna

Author's note: Well, I'm glad you liked it. I was afraid after reading my summary you would all think that this was just some 'Donna gets drunk and then she and Josh fool around' story…WHICH IT IS NOT! As you wish, here is the continuation…

"The Best Laid Plans Wither…"

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The next Monday I sat, lazily lounging in my office chair after a weekend of little sleep and much pondering. On Saturday I had picked up my phone approximately ninety-four times, ready to call Donna and offer to bring her a hangover survival kit, (which includes a large amount of coffee, me, and a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol.) But I decided against it, rationalizing that she wouldn't want to see me anyway and/or the phone would wake her up from a dream about us on a date. (A man can wish, can't he?) 

When I was sure Donna was sitting comfortably at her desk, (without saying hello, I might add) I yelled, "Donna!"

She didn't budge. "What?"

I tried my kindest voice; "Can you get me some coffee?"

Donna stood in my doorway. "Joshua, what do I look like to you?"

Gulp. Esophagus closing off. Mouth dry. She looked wonderful, like she always does, in a navy blue skirt and long-sleeved white shirt. "Someone the US government pays to _assist_ me…hence the reason you are sometimes referred to as my _assistant_."

She raised an eyebrow. "Very funny, Joshua." And turned around and left.

"W-wait a minute!" Where's the banter? Huh? Huh? I feel deprived. I, fully within my rights, bellowed, "Where are you going?"

"To the Mess," Donna said over her shoulder.

I briefly felt a feeling of contentedness I've never experience before. "So, you're going to finally get me coffee, huh?"

"No."

And the feel was gone. "_What_?"

"I'm going to get _myself_ a cup of coffee."

I was in a state of shock. "You mean you're going to go _all the way_ to the Mess and back with two _fully functional_ hands, I might add, to only get **one** cup of coffee when you are perfectly capable of getting _two_?"

"Yes."

Donna was well out of hearing distance by then. I smirked and muttered, "Good. As long as you go down there."

I twiddled (yes 'twiddled' **is** a word) my thumbs and guestimated the time it would take Donna to return to my desk. Seeing that I was using the watch on my arm to calculate the timing, I was quite a bit off and she came back before I was ready.

I looked up and was startled to see a puzzled look on my assistant's face. My gaze traveled downward to her hands, which were holding a bouquet of brown flowers.

How was I supposed to know that leaving flowers in the Mess overnight would _kill_ them? I thought they could survive a while without water…but obviously I was wrong. In my opinion, florists shouldn't package their flowers in that plastic stuff, unless they (the flowers) can live like that for _at least_ two days. 

Her voice brought me out of my thoughts; "Josh, the head chef said these flowers were just sitting on the counter when he came in this morning…"

What should I say? _What should I say? _"Oh?"

"And this card has my name on it…"

I gazed at the card I had written approximately twenty-four hours ago. I licked my excessively dry lips and hoped she wouldn't recognize—

"This looks like your handwriting, Josh…"

—my writing. Darn it! 

Donna cocked her head to the side and gave me the benefit of the doubt; "Do you know who wrote this, Josh?"

Should I lie? Say it was Sam? Say it was chef what's-his-name? "There's probably a perfectly good explanation…" Smooth Josh, _very_ smooth.

Donna sat down and threw the flowers in the garbage just as Sam stuck his head in my doorway. Perfect timing as always, Sam. _Just perfect… _He said, "Hey, Josh, I was wondering if you wanted to—

"No, Sam, I'm _a little **busy**_," I replied through clenched teeth.

Sam looked from Donna, to me, to Donna, to me and then winked. He shut the door, but I could still hear C.J. clearly; "Where's Josh and why are you standing in front of his office like a body guard?"

"He's busy talking to Donna," said Sam.

"You mean—

"Yeah, I think so."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

At that point I stopped listening, hoping that Donna couldn't hear them. She was watching my reactions, with this weird look on her face. "Josh, I had this bizarre dream last Friday that I was drunk and I think I was in your office…"

I am not going to have a heart attack…I _am not_ going to have a heart attack. _Ah!_ She doesn't even **remember**! 

"Josh, are you okay?" Donna looked concerned.

I somehow managed a calm and controlled voice, "Yeah, I'm fine. Please continue." 

Fine. **Perfect**! Just _peachy_! That's me, Josh Lyman, the man who gave you **dead flowers** because he thought you thought that **he** was the one you were meant to marry, but you don't even _remember_ talking to me because you were **drunk**! Yeah, _darn it_, I'm just _fine and dandy!_

Deep breaths…deep breaths. 

Donna's definitely looked worried now, but she continued anyway; "I remember you were there, Josh… That _wasn't_ a dream, was it?"

I pulled at my collar. "Um…"

"No, huh?" She stood up, shook her head, and paced. "I guess my first clue that it was real should've been that I woke up Saturday on the floor with a huge head ache…"

"Yeah, I—

Donna looked down at me with an extremely troubled look. I felt the need to stand up to be level with her, but my knees were not responding. "Josh, I didn't say anything…**weird** to you, did I?"

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Weird? **No!** What a silly question! Of course not! Women talk to me about meeting the man they're going to marry all the time! I smiled unconvincingly. "No. You just wanted some coffee, that's all."

Donna sighed in relief. I wonder what she thought she said? "Oh, good."

"Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Uh, sure."

"Was last Friday your golden birthday?"

The worried look returns. "Yes." She paused and picked up the brown flowers. "These are for my birthday?"

"Well…"

"They're beautiful, thank you." Donna touched a brown rose petal. It crumbled and fell to the ground. My assistant's smile didn't even waver. I wonder if she's colorblind and can't see the brown? I've never asked… "These were—_are_ rosebuds, aren't they…?"

Suddenly the color drained from Donna's face. I had a sickening feeling that she was putting two and two together. The drunken visit she didn't quite remember…the rosebuds…her golden birthday… 

Donna was about to ask me something when one of the doors to my office opened. A number of people I control walked in, ready for their meeting. _Why does the god of good timing curse me?_

I was ready to yell at them to get back out into the hall, when I realized Donna had already fled through the _other_ door.

Why, oh _why?_ It was a good plan! It _really_ was! So my romance muse wasn't with me on this one, it wasn't _my_ fault! Maybe I can still tap into my inner-Romeo? I'm sure it's there! I _have_ a fan club! The Lyman-charm just needs a little time to warm up that's all…

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To be continued… (For sure this time!)

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PLEASE RESPOND!

Author's Note: Yes, yes, _Political Engagement_, I know! Soon, soon! I promise!


	3. If It Ain't Broke, Don't Name It

Never Gather Rosebuds After Dark ****

Never Gather Rosebuds After Dark

By: The Writer

Category: Josh/Donna

Rating: PG

"If It Ain't Broke Don't Name It"

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It was sometime after the meeting in which I gave instructions to several nameless interns. I hadn't been able to concentrate on anything all day. I think I told one girl to compile a paper on "the most successful courting rituals through-out the world", but I'm not sure. 

So, it didn't come as much of a surprise when I found myself wandering through a hallway with C.J. on my left and Sam on my right, both yelling at me. Sam was yelling, "So, what happened?"

I blinked back to reality and moaned, "I gave her flowers…"

"I'm impressed, Josh," said C.J. "That sounds pretty romantic to me."

"They were brown."

Sam laughed and replied sarcastically, "_Nice job_."

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "I didn't mean to… I believe the fault really lies more with the florist than with me—

"_Please_ don't say you thought the flowers could live in the plastic-wrappings," said C.J. I am still debating her psychic abilities.

"I…well…"

"So, you need something to make up for it?" asked Sam. Go team!

I stretched my arms. "I was thinking dinner…"

"Go Italian," Sam advised. "Girls dig the garlic sticks and violin music." He winked.

C.J. rolled her eyes. "We _dig_ it? Grow up! Spaghetti is _the_ _worst_ date food! The only thing a guy ever got from me after an Italian dinner was a dry cleaning bill to get the sauce stains out of my clothes."

I looked from Sam to C.J., debating whose advice I should trust. I turned to C.J. "So, what _would_ you suggest?"

Sam muttered, "Traitor."

C.J.'s eyes got this kinda faraway look. It was a little scary because she only spoke one word at a time; "French," pause, "wine," pause, "nighttime…"

"Uh…okay. Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Where exactly are we going?" If you remember, I had been in a daze for the past few hours and was not quite sure how I even ended up walking down this particular hallway.

Sam gave me this weird look. (I seemed to be getting a lot of those.) "We're going to discuss nuclear waste management with Troy Johnson. You _do_ have your stuff, right?"

Well…um…kinda didn't remember that, no. I turned around and ran off as fast as a rocket. (At least, I like to think so.) I then proceeded to run down approximately half a dozen women carrying assorted items from donuts to (quite possibly _very_) important papers. 

The funny thing is, even though I didn't recognize a one of them, they all seemed to know who I was and yelled things such as, "Watch out, Josh!" "Aren't there laws against running in the hallway of a government building, Mr. Lyman?" and (my personal favorite) "You drop the donut, you eat the donut!" (Too bad I didn't have time to take anyone up on that offer.)

As I was running past Donna's desk I saw this blur of brown out of the corner of my eye. I stopped dead in my tracks and took three slow steps backwards. One…two…three… There, on the corner of my assistant's desk, sat a vase, filled with water, and containing the flowers I gave her.

Now, just incase you weren't really listening to me _at all_, let me clarify: I gave her **dead** flowers! They were _brown_! Things that _aren't alive_ aren't pretty! Dead things _do not_ drink water! People _usually_ do not display **dead** flowers! _Okay?_ **Okay!**

I closed my eyes and reopened them… The dead flowers were _still there!_ Darn it! I took a deep breath, rubbed my forehead, and spoke calmly; "Donna…are those the _dead_ flowers I gave you?"

My assistant looked up and gave a little smile. "Yes, Josh, they are."

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Alert! **Confusion**! **Alert!** _Confusion_! "Okay…and you have them in water because…?"

Donna plucked off one of the flowers' _many_ dead leaves. "I thought they would look nicer in a vase…and flowers drink water, Josh."

Yes, flowers that are **alive**! My forehead became a mass of lines. I had this feeling I wasn't going to get anywhere on this subject… Maybe I should be happy; Donna doesn't seem upset… 

I left Donna at her desk and hurried into my office. Johnson gets ornery if he has to wait too long. I shifted papers on my desk, looking for the info on nuclear waste. "Donna!"

She appeared in my doorway, the aforementioned papers in her hand. "If you would've just waited I would've gotten them for you, Joshua."

"Thanks, Donna." I stood up and took the papers from her. We both looked at each other for a moment, both thinking about the same thing: rosebuds.

Donna grabbed my arm and gave me a little push. "You'd better go, Josh."

I looked at my watch. "I have time…"

She smirked. "No you don't. We'll talk later."

I nodded and headed off to the meeting.

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I hurried back to Donna's desk after the meeting. I thought it had gone well…just your typical day in which Josh Lyman saves the world from the hazards of nuclear waste. I am _so_ da man! I wonder what Mom ever did with my superman T-shirt that had an L on it instead of an S? (Super Lyman can beat plain old Superman any day…at least, that's what Mom used to tell me.)

I _know_! I should've been pondering what Donna and I were going to talk about instead of taking trip down memory lane. It's not like I was nervous…well, maybe a little… Okay! Fine! I _was really_ nervous! Why should a man who speaks with important political figures daily be nervous, you ask? Because…because… Something could go wrong and—

She's _not there_! I can't believe it! Donna's desk was empty! Was it her lunch break? Did she quit? I bellowed, "Donna!" out of pure habit. Nobody around me even flinched.

I knew my own watch was unreliable, so I tapped the person closest to me on the shoulder. The woman turned around. Large brown eyes framed with thin eyebrows blinked in surprise. Cherry-red lips parted in a picture-perfect smile. Her voice bubbled warmly, "Mister Lyman? I can't believe it! I've been here for five months and I'd thought you'd _never_ notice me!"

The time…the time…I need to know the time! But who needs to know the time when there's such an attractive creature right here? "I—

The woman batted her long eyelashes and twirled a stand of blonde hair (a few shades darker than Donna's) around a manicured finger. "My name is Trisha. That girl…what's her name? Diana? No…Donna! That's it! She always hogs you!"

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Pause. Excuse me…did I miss something? "She…_what_?"

"Hogs you," Tansy repeated. "I bet you don't even know any of the other intern's names."

I…well… That's beside the point. "Uh—

"What's his name?" The woman pointed to a man a few feet away. He looked like any average Joe…or Martin…or Jordan…or Mick…or Ed…

How should _I_ know his name? I stalled, "Maybe if you tell me what it starts with…"

Tara…Tory…Tina… (I'm _not always_ good with names, all right?) _She_ laughed lightly. "His name's Toby."

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No fair! I already know a Toby! There shouldn't be more than one person with the same name in the White House… "But…I…"

Clearly, _she_ read my mind. "Sometimes more than one woman names their kid the same name."

I ran my fingers through my hair. "Actually, I was just looking for Donna."

Tristy frowned. "Oh. I haven't seen her."

"Okay, thanks." I watched _her_ walk away. What nice, slender legs… Wait a minute! What _am_ I doing? 

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Donna's the one who helped me after the shooting. _Donna's_ the one who let me crash on her couch and slur curses at the demons-with-fur her roommate owns. _Donna's_ the one who banters with me. _Donna's_ the one who quotes (_sometimes-_useful) facts to me. And, as a matter of fact, Donna also has nice legs!

So _what was I thinking?_

I walked into my office and pulled out a Washington D.C. phone book. A book filled with names and numbers and restaurants. 

Where did that T-woman get her facts, anyway? I _never_ had a problem not knowing intern's names. I was fine saying, "Hey, you with the _fill-in-the-blank_ (i.e. purple shoes…long hair…green dress…etc.)!" 

I flipped to the Italian restaurant section. Though C.J.'s opinion was appreciated, I think I should go with Sam on this one. The whole Italian-thing seemed to have worked for him before. Maybe women like the whole _Lady and the Tramp _pasta-scene/_Godfather I, II, III _effect? 

I skim the Yellow Pages. Let's see. _An Italian Restaurant_… _Freddie's_… _Luigi's_… _Mama's_… Ah ha! Here we go: _Romeo's Italian Experience_. What's better than that? I can't _possibly_ go wrong!

I scribbled the place and time on a Post-It. I'll sneak out early and leave the note on one of the copy machines Donna frequents…

I smile, practicing my Lyman-charm. Inner Romeo, don't fail me now!

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To be continued!

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Please, please, please respond!

Thanks.

Note**:** The last chapter of _The Political Engagement _should be up! (But you might have to dig to find it!) I'm sorry it took so long! Keep your eyes out for _The Political Engagement: Episode 2_! 


	4. Romeo, Romeo, Why for Art Thou Cursed?

Never Gather Rosebuds After Dark

Never Gather Rosebuds After Dark

By: The Writer

Rating: PG

Category: J/D

"Romeo, Romeo, why for art thou cursed?"

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I walked up to the Italian restaurant feeling pretty good. I was wearing the same light blue dress-shirt I had on earlier, minus the tie. I surveyed the place. There were large glass windows in the front with the name painted on them: R, O, M, A, R, I, O

Wait a minute! I thought it was _Romeo's_!

I reread the windows… Darn it! Don't tell me this was a very blunt sign that my inner-Romeo _has never_ and _will never_ be there! _No_! **No**! No!

I tried to shake the bad feeling off. I sighed and opened the front door. A small bell rang and a waiter appeared before me. "I have a reservation for Lyman."

The man smiled a toothy grin and spoke with an Italian accent, "Lieman, eh? You shoulda work at the White House with a name like that!" He punched me in the arm. "Get it? Lieman, lie man?"

With much effort I mustered a smile. "Yeah. I get it. Actually, I _do_ work at the White House. My name is Joshua Lyman; I'm the Deputy Chief of Staff. Perhaps you've heard of me?" 

The man leaned forward and looked very closely at my face. "You were shot, no?"

And people wonder why I don't eat out more often… I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."

Please don't ask me what it felt like…please don't ask me what it felt like… "Can you tell me, what did it feel like?"

Patients dwindling… It felt great! _Wonderful_! I'd recommend it to anyone! Jeez. What do people _expect_ me to say? "Can I see the table?"

The man suddenly remembered he was paid to do more than harass customers. He grabbed menus and led me to a booth. "Here you are, sir."

"Thanks." I slid into a seat and reached for a menu.

The man handed a menu to me and held the other in his hand. "Your reservation said there are two in your party. Did your girlfriend cancel?"

I am _not_ going to kill him…I am not going to kill him… "No, I don't think so."

The man was intrigued. "What do you mean, you don't _think_ so?"

I rubbed my temples and snatched the menu from his hands. Through gritted teeth I mustered my Lyman-poise (one of my many Lyman-traits); "Thanks. You've been a _great help_. If a young woman comes in looking for me, please direct her to this table."

The man nodded his head to me. "Certainly, sir."

I smiled as I watched the man return to his post near the front door, behind a small podium. Looking down at the menu, I flicked through the pages, searching for the wine list. Appetizers… Pastas… Salads… Soups… Desserts… Ah ha! Drinks! 7up… Coke… Pepsi… water… lemonade… Mountain Dew…

This isn't a _kiddie party_! Where the hell are the alcoholic drinks? The fine wines? The Zinfandel? Beer! Whiskey! Something! Come on…_work with me_ people! 

I flagged down a waitress that was walking by. I was going to be polite and keep using my Lyman-poise; "Why the heck aren't there any _real_ drinks on this menu?" Oops. Well, at least I didn't swear at her.

The girl looked at me with this wide-eyed deer-in-headlights look. She was probably no older than 16 and I just scared the crap out of her. Darn! She looked about ready to run, crying to her boss. The last thing I needed was to be kicked out of this restaurant before Donna even got here!

She took a deep breath and mustered all the control she had. She probably learned how to handle guys like me at Waitressing School on _How to Calm an Angry Customer_ _Day. _"Well, actually, sir, my boss, Romario, doesn't believe in alcoholic beverages. He says they are abused and in-turn destroy very valuable brain cells. He also says such drinks are an overrated way for men to woo women."

I _need_ woo-power, darn it! The girl was so quiet and polite about it; all I could do was rub my temples and mutter, "Thank you."

I slammed my menu down on the table. Without wine, all I was going to have waiting for Donna was me! Well, that's not _such_ a bad thing…but you know what I mean. 

Oh, wait! The violin music! I can have a violinist waiting here for Donna! 

I flagged down the next waitress that walked by. She looked a good ten years older than the last one. She folded her arms and glared at me, clearly ready to berate me on the rudeness I showed her younger co-worker. She demanded, "What?"

"Do you have any violin players here?"

"No, sir, we ain't got no violinists." She chewed her gum loudly.

No violin music _either_! Ugh! "Can you bring some garlic bread?" 

"Yeah." She flicked her hair and walked away.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the booth. I was picturing a perfect date, complete with a violinist and Donna in a velvet dress, when her voice broke through my thoughts; "Josh?"

My eyes snapped open and I smiled. "Hi, Donna, welcome." I gestured towards the other side of the booth. "Sit down."

Donna sat down across from me. She was wearing the same clothes she had on earlier. Evidently she had come here straight from the White House. But something was different… 

There, tucked behind her ear, was one of the **brown rosebuds**! Will wonders never cease? I can't believe this woman! Is she trying to drive me over the edge or something? So I know the dead flowers were a mistake, already! She doesn't have to keep rubbing it in!

"You look nice."

Donna raised an eyebrow and touched the dead flower. "Josh, this is the same thing I had on earlier."

Why can't women just except a compliment? "Yeah…well…it still looks nice."

She laughed. "I've probably worn this shirt a hundred times…"

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "_Donna_…"

"Yes, Josh?" Donna leaned forward, her 'lets be professional' face on.

I started, "About last Friday—

I stopped when I heard a vaguely familiar voice speak my name, "Josh?"

I looked up to see a young woman's face. My startled brain told me belonged to an intern named Trisha. I glanced over at my assistant. Donna's mouth hung slightly agape as she surveyed the other woman in the velvet dress. She then gave me a quizzical look. 

I. Can't. Breath. This can't really be happening. What _is_ happening? What should I _say_? "Trisha?"

Donna glared at me. "You _know_ her?"

Caught. Oh. No. Wait. What _is_ this? "I…I… She's just an intern."

Trisha flicked her blonde hair. "Just an intern, huh? That's not what you seemed to think when you were staring at my legs."

Well, I would _not_ call it staring! I merely viewed them for a moment before I realized what I was doing! 

Donna looked outraged. "Joshua! I can't believe…after all we've gone through you'd just… And invite us _both_ here? What were you going to do, Josh, make _her_ your new assistant?"

I think I missed something. Now, all of a sudden, I'm this evil mastermind who planned to invite out two women who work for him so he could…? I am _so_ cursed! I think it might be because I violated my own rule by trying to gather my rosebuds after dark.

Donna jumped up, her eyes wet and flashing at the same time, and ran out of the restaurant. I was left yelling, "But… No! _Wait!_ I can explain! It's not like that at all!" I reeled on Trisha; "What are you _doing here_?"

She calmly sat in Donna's seat, batted her eyelashes, and smiled. "Taking you up on your invitation, of course."

My…_what_? "My…_what_?"

Trisha nibbled on the sticks a waitress had just placed on the table and made a face. "Ugh! Who knew Italians would serve breadsticks without garlic on them?" She licked her cherry-red lips. "I found the note you left me on the fax machine."

That's what I get for leaving a note out in the open and not addressing it to Donna. "Actually, it was meant for my assistant."

"Oh."

I stood up. "Listen…I'm going to go try to catch her."

Trisha rolled her eyes, not pleased at being ditched. "How very _Romeo-ish_ of you."

Romeo-ish? Moi? I strode gallantly towards the door.

"Do I still get a free dinner?" she called after me.

Outside the rain was pouring down. I hypothesized that a dark cloud was just following me around, but the street also seems to be wet, so I guess that's not it. I saw Donna. She hadn't yet gotten in her car and driven off, but she wasn't walking slowly, either. "Donna!"

She continued walking away from me. Her voice quivered slightly, "I can't talk right now, Joshua."

"Donna, just wait a minute!" I reached out and grabbed her shoulder. Her body stiffened. I was glad she stopped, but I knew I'd be stuck conversing with her back. "Donna, last Friday you showed up in my office, drunk, and we kinda talked about Golden Birthdays—

"You said it yourself, Josh, I was drunk. Don't hold me responsible for whatever I said," her back told me. She, again, began walking away.

"Donna, wait! Donna! Will you just _look_ at me?" I stopped, rain pouring down on me, and pleaded with my voice.

Donna stopped and faced me. Problem 1) She wouldn't meet my gaze. Problem 2) She had her arms crossed defensively. "Will you just tell me what I said, Josh?"

I ran my fingers through my wet hair. "You said you hoped, by now, that you would have met the man you're going to marry."

This time Donna met my eyes, but her look almost killed me. "Josh—

One last chance to be Romeo… "I've been thinking, Donna, and I want to be that man."

Donna had run forward and wrapped her arms around me before I had time to blink. I hugged her back. She told my soaked shirt, "I didn't think you knew."

__

Me? Josh Lyman? Not know? Why does everyone seem to think this? 

I leaned down and kissed her…on the lips. And let me just tell you, it was the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. I then slipped my arm around her waist and we walked back towards Romario's. She glanced up at me; "Josh…what _is_ the story with the intern?"

Choke. Should've known that was coming… "She was a little confused. She found the note I left you and thought it was for her."

"And her legs…?"

Flattery does wonders. "I was comparing them to yours and your legs won."

Donna blushed. "Oh."

As we walked up to the glass windows I saw Trisha surrounded by several Italian men. She smiled at them. One man was playing the violin.

I pulled the door open for Donna and the little bell rang. She commented, "I'm in the mood for garlic sticks."

"I heard here they're served without the garlic."

"Josh, what did you do to piss of the cook?"

How does she _know_ these things? I think she's in cahoots (yes, 'cahoots' **is** a word) with C.J. "Actually, it was a waitress—

Donna waved a hand. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

That was a good night. I would recommend _Romario's_, they have killer pasta. Remind me to thank Sam.

Oh yeah, what about my inner-Romeo? We've recently connected and now speak on a regular basis. He has advised me, if I ever again plan to use roses (or rosebuds), I should have the de-thorned kind delivered fresh from a florist. I plan to use that advice for Donna's belated birthday present.

Also, I now have a new theory on gathering rosebuds: It doesn't really matter if you gather them in the morning or at night…as long as you do it right. Now, I wouldn't necessarily recommend dead flowers or notes taped to fax machines…but whatever works, right? 

****

The End!

(I'm sure this time!)

__

I hoped you liked it! If you have chance, please tell me what you think!


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